


The Fall of Florokru

by Shipper101



Series: Mountains of the Past (The 100 Season 4) [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: BAMF Clarke Griffin, Mass Murder, Post-Season/Series 03 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 09:56:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9542597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shipper101/pseuds/Shipper101
Summary: In pursuit of survival, Florokru must burn.





	

**Author's Note:**

> And HOLY HELL, it has been a while since I posted properly. To say life hit a new gear is not dong it justice. More like it grabbed me, strapped me to the side of a fighter jet, and blasted off

The platform was dark. A few guards patrolled the perimeter, searching for any possible assailants. Few seriously focused on their task- they stood upon a hidden platform, miles from any other landmarks, accessible only by their own fleet of boats. A risky proposition indeed, for any possible attackers. Their bows lay slung over their shoulders, their swords at their hips; with Luna effectively declaring independence from the coalition, there had been an awareness of sudden danger. One that had rapidly diminished over time. Now, the army of scavengers and nomads hid beneath the deck, hiding with the women and children following in their wake, disguising their might for the appropriate time to strike.

The first guards fell silently, recycled steel blades opening their throats, leaving their windpipes whistling quietly in the wind as the lifeblood drained out of them. Lowering her target gently to the ground, Harper sheathed her knife, raising her rifle to her mid chest, before signalling the team of dark grey clad assailants to move onward. Nodding, they raised their own rifles, dark kohl causing the whites of their eyes to stand out, stark against the jet background. Slowly, Harper edged her way forwards. Suddenly, in hear earpiece buzzed the pips; Three pips, all clear. Good, the other teams had managed to arrive undetected as well. Nodding to her team, she slunk along the walkway.

The next guard that they encountered saw them. He was, however, too slow to get away, and was staked to the wall on a long, sharp combat knife for his troubles. Gunfire cut across the otherwise still night air, from somewhere across the platform. So one of the teams had been spotted. Rolling her eyes, Harper gestured to her squad. Each moving over to a trapdoor, they all grasped the handles, before readying a grenade in their free palms. Nodding, they all yanked the doors wide, dropped the devices, and slammed the doors shut behind them. There was a desperate hustling from below, before the unmistakable sound of explosions, and then silence. 

\---------

Octavia stormed into the tower, Ryk following as fast as he could move by her side. There was no-one. No-one at all. The city seemed deserted. Her strike force had reached Polis in good time, only to find it utterly undefended. While she was confident in her skills, there was no way a force of men as great in number as hers had been able to cross all clan territories undetected. Something was off. And no guards. Everyone had completely disappeared. However, it wouldn't matter if just the one person was still here. 

Bursting into the throne room, she saw her. Clarke just sat there, on the throne of Heda. The other chairs were empty; the craven ambassadors no doubt fled back to the safety of their own clans. It didn't matter. Drawing her sword, Clarke responded by merely raising her hand.

Within her grasp was a small stick, capped with a red button. Octavia hadn't travelled far, but she recognised a detonator. She froze. Ryk followed suit.

'Hello Octavia.'

 

\---------

 

Harper had to suppress a smirk as she met up with team two. They were all still alive, albeit with one wounded. Erratic gunfire echoed around them, as the other teams proceeded through their quadrants. Luna's entourage had been exact in their description of the platform. Two floors down, and every door and room was exactly as promised. Team three's gunfire had drawn many of the defenders to respond to the aggression, forcing team four to sweep into their flank, and between the two teams they seemed to be making progress. Her team had been able to stem the tide of reinforcements with a few well placed grenades, and their recent gunfight had been brutally one sided- she and her team had arrived to witness an attack against a corridor defence set up by team two, and had, with surprise and a perfect crossfire on her side, made short work of the attackers, in whose corpses she now stood. As it turned out, team two had made an error in judgement, and had arrived in exactly the wrong place-a major junction to the lower levels- and had thus been immediately swamped in enemies. Ducking into the hatch, she descended deeper into the bowels of the old world leviathan, twenty men at her back.

\---------

'Hello Clarke. You seem to be at home' Octavia snarled

Clarke just smiled. 'Little nightblood, I have a message for you. Your people are in Arkadia. The army of the clans in en route for collection in three days. As it is two days ride to Arkadia, I suggest you get moving.'

Ryk didn't move. Rolling her eyes, Clarke continued.

'This is a trigger. Each of the chairs that currently surround you is backed with explosive. I need to talk with Octavia, alone. Go and send your message.'

Looking at Octavia, Ryk nodded, before turning and dashing out of the room.

'I don't know why you're doing this Clarke. But it needs to stop. We have enough troops to throw this land into war. And we will, unless you return our people.'

Clarke glared at her. 'Your people are the 100, Octavia. Not the nomads, not the Skaikru, and not the Florokru.'

Octavia sneered at her.

'My people are those who fight for life. Those who fight you, Wanheda.' she spat.

Sighing, Clarke put the detonator down. 'I hoped for better, Octavia, really I did. But your childish rebellion is going to end now, and today.'

As Clarke rose from her throne, Octavia lunged. Clarke batted the sword away with a bracer and grasped Octavia around the throat with her free hand, before slamming her into the ground.

'Violence will not solve your problems. When we are finished, your nomads will be extinct. The clans shall be all that remain. And they shall be only twelve.'

Octavia glared at her, even as she gasped and struggled for air.

'Flororkru has burned- your little refuge is ashes, your army reduced to corpses. This land shall belong to you and Ryk, but as a delinquent and a nightblood.'

Desperate, Octavia lunged with a dagger, managing to nick Clarke's arm. As the world faded to black, she looked on in horror, as the blade was tinged black along the edge.


End file.
